


Make a Day of It

by Marlinspirkhall, OnlySlightlyObsessed1



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: 5k to 15k, Art, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Embedded Images, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Relationship Negotiation, a conservative t rating for descriptions of injuries, not incredibly graphic but described in detail, spones reverse big bang 2020-2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28880544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marlinspirkhall/pseuds/Marlinspirkhall, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlySlightlyObsessed1/pseuds/OnlySlightlyObsessed1
Summary: There are plenty of things McCoy doesn’t like: early mornings, being cold, transporters, shuttle rides, and being part of landing parties. Especially landing parties.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 10
Kudos: 71
Collections: Spones Reverse Big Bang (2020-2021)





	Make a Day of It

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much to [sponesrbb](https://sponesrbb.tumblr.com/) for this event! I'm so glad to have had the chance to participate. I was very lucky to have the chance to write for Marlin's beautiful art, which you can find embedded here and on [tumblr](https://marlinspirkhall.tumblr.com/post/640864965643911168/my-art-pieces-for-the-2021-spones-reverse-bang)!
> 
> I also want to say thank you to A Chan, [logicheartsoul](https://logicheartsoul.tumblr.com/) (tumblr) [kisaru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisaru) (ao3), and [groovyfluxie](https://groovyfluxie.tumblr.com/) (tumblr) [FluxieJew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluxieJew) (ao3) for their help. Of course the mistakes are all mine.

The room was not pitch black when the alarm went off, but it wasn't bright like it ought to have been on time for alpha shift. McCoy startled awake, half convinced it was the red alert. Next to him, Spock pulled the covers up over his head.

The jangling noise paused, then started over again.

As the momentary panic receded, McCoy said, "Lights fifty percent," to discourage himself from simply falling back asleep. Spock made some kind of indignant noise as the alarm continued. He should have slept more last night, but that was a fight McCoy had resigned himself to losing and didn't pick very often.

The alarm paused again for the computer to read out the time. Second decimal. 0602. It stopped there and the alarm started up again. He hadn’t set the clock in his quarters to read out the time in Vulcan like Spock’s did.

God McCoy hated landing parties. An hour of sleep lost to sit in a shuttle with some sleep deprived ensign at the helm. At least he would be spared the transporter this time.

McCoy pushed the blankets back and sat upright, patting the pile of blankets next to him to find Spock's shoulder to shake him gently. Landing parties were awful even when they didn’t necessitate waking up early. Spock grumbled again and McCoy struggled out of bed without turning off the alarm.

At 0630, when McCoy was showered and dressed and trying to convince his hair to stay where he put it, Spock emerged from the bathroom, hair perfect, and told him, pointedly, “In half an hour we must be in the shuttle, Leonard.”

“Tell me honestly, do you have a stamp that you do use to do your makeup or do you look like that naturally just to spite me.”

Spock batted his hands away from his hair, taking the opportunity to also leave a kiss on the back of his hand. “I do it just to spite you. Come to breakfast.”

"I'll be right behind you," McCoy told him, and by some miracle Spock either didn't pick up or didn't comment on the anxiety that was suddenly coursing through him. He only sighed quietly and made his way out of the bedroom. McCoy stared at his reflection in the mirror for another half second. His hair would be what it would be. He tapped the clock once on the dresser. It displayed the time and date in the Vulcan symbols he had been (slowly, secretly) learning. McCoy's gaze drifted to the closet where a thin personal PADD was hidden between the sweaters he never had a chance to wear. It wasn't a gift, that was a human anniversary tradition, more of a promise. The clock switched back to standard automatically and Spock called from the other room.

"Coming."

The corridors were unusually empty. McCoy realized it wasn't close enough to the change of shift for most people to be up and wandering around. Spock was waiting for him at the corner to head into the turbolift.

McCoy went straight for the coffee while Spock peeled off towards the synthesizers. He'd just finished assembling his cup when Jim appeared at his elbow looking about as tired as McCoy felt.

"Morning."

"Morning Jim. Did you sleep at all last night?"

That earned him an exasperated half glare.

"Move over," Jim said, "you're not the only one who needs coffee."

McCoy stepped back. "You're the one who scheduled us all this early. Don't think I'm going to be sympathetic to you."

"If I were in a position to bargain with the Dhiltor I would have let us sleep in, but unfortunately I'm duty bound to get us those materials _your department_ needs so desperately."

"It's not my fault Starfleet Command fucked up the supply ship's schedule," McCoy argued, heading towards the stack of meal trays. Jim followed him with his own coffee cup.

The offering that morning was eggs and sausages. Jim grabbed a bowl labeled 'scrambled' and McCoy tried to work up some enthusiasm for food at all.

"I think I'm just going to have a bagel."

"There's oatmeal on the other side," Jim said.

Oatmeal sounded as unappealing as eggs.

The synthesizer gave him a perfectly uniform bagel with cream cheese and a bowl of granola with fruit. He ate a single raspberry straight from the tray, disappointed when it tasted like 0630 hours. Jim had already sat down next to Uhura across from Spock as McCoy finally made his way to join them.

Uhura smiled at him as he sat down and wished her a good morning. Her breakfast tray was finished already but he didn't ask how long she'd been up. She always woke early and he didn't need any reminders of the bags under his own eyes.

Spock stole one of his strawberries.

The four of them left for the shuttle bay just as most of the rest of alpha shift was sitting down with their breakfasts. Coffee had helped, but not enough. McCoy still would have liked to crawl back in bed and sleep the hour he’d lost. He sat behind Jim, tucking away his medkit and communicator in the seat pocket, yawning. Spock sat next to him.

Lieutenant Sage, their security officer, walked down the short aisle handing out environmental regulators to clip onto their belts. McCoy took his reluctantly. He remembered Sulu’s report on the region’s permanent winter storms and that the citadel was made of ice. He would have preferred they all be bundled in real jackets—with environmental regulators also why not—and proper boots. Jim had shot that down pretty quick with arguments about professionalism and making a good first impression. McCoy didn’t buy it. The jackets were emblazoned with Starfleet’s logo just like everything else. Regardless, he clipped the regulator on his belt and reminded himself to be grateful for the small pocket of warm air.

The shuttle emerged from the bright bay and into blackness. Immediately as the ambient light around them fell, McCoy felt himself getting tired again. Spock would never stoop to doing anything so undignified as yawning in public so McCoy made sure to embarrass him as much as possible by using his shoulder as a pillow the whole shuttle ride down to the planet.

They touched down gently. McCoy barely felt it. It didn’t even jostle his head from Spock’s shoulder. Jim, who had been staring out the window the whole ride down in childlike wonder, took a breath and was suddenly all business.

"Let's not drag this out, everyone. Lieutenant Uhura will take point in communicating with their spokesperson, everyone else, pay attention to your translators. Bones, you're supposed to say thank you on our behalf." Jim turned to their single unarmed security officer. "Don't start any fights, please."

The young Lieutenant nodded, sheepishly.

"Okay. Let's go."

Ensign Miriam, their pilot, stayed aboard the shuttle while the rest of them followed Uhura out into the cold air of the open cavern. A wall of ice rose up in front of them, imposing. At the front gate a solitary figure shrouded in protective all-weather gear awaited them. They did not speak as they walked. Only Uhura was supposed to say anything until it was expressly McCoy’s turn to thank them for holding the supplies. Spock was there alongside him as another member of the scientific teams, but he wasn’t supposed to speak unless they decided to address him. Jim, technically, was only there to make up their entourage alongside Lieutenant Sage.

McCoy bit back a smile at the thought. He shouldn’t let himself get too amused. With their luck, Jim would still manage to screw it up somehow. That was an easier concept to worry about than the likelihood that _he_ would screw it up somehow.

They stopped before the guard at the gate. A long note on some kind of instrument or speaker sounded. The gate inched open and the guard gestured them forward.

“Thank you,” Uhura said.

There were three people waiting for them inside the gate. Unlike the guard outside, they were wearing knee length robes and skin tight underclothes to the wrists and ankles. The tight underlayer even seemed to cover their tails. McCoy’s eyes lingered on the clawed hands gripping weapons he really hoped were ceremonial. Behind him, he heard Jim and Lieutenant Sage shift uneasily.

“State your business.”

“I am Representative Uhura of the Starship Enterprise, here to see Representative Histack.”

“The country of Dhiltor welcomes your party, Representative Uhura.”

Two of the guards stepped to the side, and the third turned their back and marched off down the corridor behind them. Uhura nodded to the two other guards and followed.

The corridor had a high ceiling, but McCoy couldn’t help glancing nervously above his head anyway. They were traveling down, deeper into the ice, and his mind thought it should have been getting darker, but it wasn't, it was still getting brighter. He was certain Spock had a million technological questions about what they used to produce the light that didn't generate too much heat, or what they used excess heat for, or more complicated questions McCoy didn't have the background to imagine. None of this was betrayed by his face, which was professionally composed and serene as always. Spock would tell him about it that night, McCoy expected.

Thinking of the evening reminded him of his plans for his anniversary gesture. He chanced a glance at Spock and worried. After more than a year—a full Vulcan year—McCoy wished he knew how to predict Spock’s reaction, but they’d avoided any serious talks about their futures in the long term. It wasn’t an appropriate thing to worry about in the middle of a mission. He could better use his time worrying about what he needed to say to Representative Histack.

“On behalf of the Starship Enterprise, I thank the country of Dhiltor and you, Representative Histack, for your assistance and your welcome. We are grateful to have made the acquaintance of a people with your goodwill and cooperative spirit. Starfleet sends our thanks for keeping our supplies in your care.”

Histack was silent. Uhura stood her ground, waiting for acknowledgment. McCoy started counting the seconds, resisting the urge to glance at Jim or Uhura for instruction. When seven seconds passed, approximately, he decided Histack wasn’t going to answer after all, and stepped forward.

“On behalf of our Medical Department, I thank the country of Dhiltor and you, Representative Histack,” McCoy repeated dutifully. Histack continued staring at them coldly. “These supplies make it possible for the hospital on our ship to continue to care for our crew, allies, and new friends we make along the way. With your assistance, the Starfleet supply ship was able to make an emergency restocking appointment and deliver supplies to a remote colony that has recently experienced a major unexpected solar flare. Your country’s assistance is greatly appreciated, and we won’t impose on your storage space longer than necessary. Our shuttle craft and transporter are available to collect our supplies immediately.”

He inclined his head and stepped backwards. A beat of silence passed as he tried not to fidget.

“Our country has some concerns.”

McCoy clenched his teeth. This was supposed to be in and out, he didn’t want to negotiate, and he didn’t like what their cool welcome implied.

“I appreciate your candor,” Uhura said smoothly. “How can we help alleviate your concerns?”

“We have heard that your people do these sorts of things often. It is our custom to avail ourselves of our spacefaring neighbors, with the understanding that they would return the favor. But we are a small single planet, with limited resources. You know all the right things to say, but what backs your words?”

“Our reputation. We are here to uphold our end of the arrangement, and you will find our other allies—”

Histack interrupted her. “Your words and your allies. What about those whom are not yet allies? What are the risks we take in engaging with you? Who are our other options? There is much that has been left out of our talks.”

“Representative Histack—” Jim had hardly gotten the words out before they were confronted with the business end of the guard’s weapons. McCoy took a deep, resigned breath and set his eyes on the nearest exit.

—

It was too damn cold for them not to have some kind of jackets, McCoy thought, but those were trivial concerns when he was tripping over his own feet as he ran for his life. Away from the heated inhabited area of the citadel the passageways and caves were cold, some with a breeze, and all made of ice. Spock was ahead of him and he hoped to god Jim and Uhura were behind him, but he couldn’t take the time to look back. He slipped a little on the slicky icy floor, losing ground to Spock, who disappeared around a corner. Behind him, he could hear shouting and footsteps echoing off the walls. It was impossible to tell who they belonged to or how close they were. McCoy righted himself and kept going, almost crashing head first into Spock who had reappeared holding an alarmingly large weapon of some sort.

“Not that way,” he said.

McCoy didn’t have the breath to ask any questions or express any concern. Spock ran off down the other path and he followed. The shouts were getting quieter, McCoy heard his own breath and heartbeat louder in his ears, but in place of the footsteps was an unfamiliar rhythmic sound. It brought to mind the lithe bodies and tough clawed feet of their hosts-turned-aggressors. McCoy ran faster.

He was not fast enough.

The Dhiltoran behind him grabbed at his shoulder, tearing his shirts when McCoy ripped away and kept running. It caught up again and clawed at his side, still trying to pull him back. It hurt. Very much so, but the pain hadn’t sunk in enough to slow him down. He was running faster, spurred on by the adrenaline rush. The world seemed to narrow to three things. The path in front of him, not so slippery anymore. The air in his lungs, cold, painful. The imminent threat of death breathing down his neck from behind.

He barely noticed catching up to Spock. He could see Spock wheeling around, the long handle of the weapon he’d taken swinging in an arc. He could hear the sound of metal on bone. The next second, he saw an empty path ahead and heard Spock yelling orders.

Then, some period of time later, they were in a small room of ice, and McCoy stopped, only for the pain to hit him, and to find himself falling over into Spock’s shoulder.

“Leonard!”

Spock maneuvered him to be seated against a wall.

They needed to keep pressure to stem the bleeding. Spock’s hands were already there, pressing painfully against the gashes on his shoulder. McCoy did his best to keep pressure against the wound on his abdomen himself. Unfortunately, he was beginning to feel weak and shaky. The adrenaline, his mind suggested. This wasn't a good safe place to crash. He tried to take steady calming breaths.

Spock was saying something. "Do you have your medkit?"

"Belt."

McCoy returned his focus to breathing. It hurt. He wasn't putting enough pressure on his abdomen. The world was very small and narrow. Spock was moving around him. The ice was cold against his back and under his butt and legs. The air stung slightly as he breathed in.

The exposed gashes on his shoulder, now bleeding profusely again as Spock inspected them to apply whatever treatment, didn't mix well with the cold air. He pressed harder against his gut and wished the pain would stop fogging his mind. He didn't even know what Spock was doing.

A sharp new stinging sensation made him gasp and flinch. A strong grip held him in place.

"I must clean your injuries before I can apply the sealant."

The words made sense, sort of. McCoy peeled his eyelids open a fraction and looked down at his own shoulder. Even in the short area where his vision wasn't impeded by Spock's hand and the sonic sterilizer, he could tell the wounds were too deep.

"That's not going to work."

"Why not?" Spock asked but did not stop.

Sometimes, when he wasn’t working at full brain power his mouth would spit out quotes from his medical textbooks almost verbatim. "That's rated for lacerations, abrasions, and small puncture wounds of one centimeter or shallower. Minor. This is—big."

“What do you suggest.”

The fog was still there. He’d done too much running and almost getting ripped to shreds. Add the pain, and McCoy knew he wasn’t at his best. “Can’t we go to medbay?”

Spock returned to using his sonic sterilizer. “Leonard, we are under nearly three kilometers of ice, in addition to shielding. We cannot go to medbay at the moment. I will do my best with the tools available.”

McCoy supposed he had to trust Spock’s judgement, but he didn’t much like it. He let his head rest against the icy wall behind him and closed his eyes again. What a terrible afternoon to add to an already terrible day, and all he’d wanted was to get back to the ship, warm up a bit, and have a terrifying conversation about commitment. Was that too much to ask?

“Leonard, I’m going to cover your injuries with the sealant to stem the bleeding.”

“You’re going to need to do something about this puncture too,” McCoy told him reluctantly. He could hear Spock’s intake of breath, the way the silence before the response lingered. Spock was level headed in a crisis, most of the time. McCoy had always liked that about him, but he knew this was getting quite far outside his area of expertise.

“Very well. Now? Or after the sealant?”

After would be fine. There wasn’t much Spock was going to be able to do about the puncture either, but maybe he could at least estimate its size. McCoy could tell it was deepest closer to the center of his body, and then lead to a shallower cut parallel to his waist. It was seeping blood even under his hand slightly. The growing wetness of his shirts was going to make him chilled faster. Damn.

Slowly, the foggy feeling was fading away. He blinked, and was faced with Spock’s face, set in intense concentration, inches from his, as he spread sealant on the lacerations on McCoy’s shoulder. Further out in the room—Jim and Uhura hadn’t been following them. His heart sank slightly. They were good at their jobs; he had no doubt they’d have been able to take care of themselves. Still, he’d have felt better if they were there.

“Did you see where Jim and Uhura went?”

Spock’s eyes flickered to his for a half second. “No. I can only assume they are facing similar difficulties as we are.”

“I hope not,” McCoy said, “they don’t have a medkit.”

Spock did not reply.

McCoy observed his process. Mostly, he was doing an adequate job. Spock wasn’t as sure of himself as his nurses and McCoy had to bite his tongue a bit not to correct him. That sureness of hand came with practice, not lectures, and Spock was working under far less than ideal conditions. There was a little puddle of blood freezing on the ground next to him. Charming.

With the sealant finished, Spock sat back. McCoy took his best look at it and nodded at him. It was an almost invisible fine web of fibers and adhesive, an extremely useful field bandage, and effective even though McCoy wouldn’t like to use it on anything this deep normally. He wondered how it would do for the puncture part of the wound to his abdomen. There would still be some internal bleeding, certainly.

“Leonard?”

McCoy braced himself. “You’ll need to look at the injury. I think it’s pretty deep, compared to the lacerations on my shoulder, more of a puncture wound. The sealant may not fully stop the bleeding. The sonic sterilizer isn’t going to be able to get at the deepest parts of it, but it’s better than nothing. We’ll have to hope the bleeding is helping to wash out most of the possible contaminants. Try to work quickly.”

“As you say, Doctor.”

Peeling his hand away did allow a stronger flow of blood, it was definitely soaking through the bottom of his shirt now. Spock almost flinched.

“Don’t get squeamish on me now.”

“This is a very bad injury,” Spock snapped at him.

“I know,” McCoy said.

There was only the sound of the sonic sterilizer for a moment. Spock’s mumbled apology came as he switched it off. Almost reluctantly, it seemed, he looked back up at McCoy for instruction.

“Start as deep as you can get it, don’t bother trying to close it up, I can do that myself once you’ve finished. Just do your best, I’ll be fine.” McCoy kept his voice even, as if he were overseeing a first aid training.

“I am concerned the bleeding will dislodge the sealant.”

“It might,” McCoy acknowledged.

Spock didn’t like that answer, although he had to have been expecting it. “Very well.”

The first touch of Spock poking the sealant some way made him hiss. Movement, touch, and the sealant itself added a horrible layer of stinging and searing to the already horrible enough aching and throbbing and stabbing. His head hit the wall again.

“Are you able to stop shaking?” Spock asked, gently this time.

“I wish.”

He couldn’t distract himself, so he didn’t bother to try. It still hurt but he was hoping he had passed the point where the endorphins kicked in and kept him functional. If Spock could get his bleeding under control to the point where they could keep moving McCoy hoped they’d be able to find their way to an exit or somewhere Scotty could get them beamed the hell out of there. Then someone else could be in charge of fixing his injuries and he could pass out. That sounded pretty nice.

Spock stopped moving.

“How’s it going?” McCoy asked.

“I do not believe it is working. The bleeding . . .”

Reluctantly, McCoy looked down again. The wound was still steadily trickling blood down his side. Too much for the sealant to have much effect apparently. Spock’s face was set, but he wouldn’t meet McCoy’s eyes.

“Okay, get the stabilizing field and the dermal regenerator.”

This would be beyond Spock’s field first aid training. It would also mean signing himself up for surgery when they got back to the ship. Thankfully, Spock didn’t argue. He picked up the instruments and waited for more instruction. McCoy thought for a moment how to proceed. He trusted himself to use either tool one handed but Spock was unpracticed. They had to assume there was still some sealant in the wound too, unless Spock had done a really terrible job trying to get in the deeper part.

“Leonard?” Spock prompted him.

“Can you set the stabilizing field somewhere, on my leg maybe, see if it will still work without you having to hold it.” As Spock followed his instructions he continued. “Don’t touch anything that’s under the field now. Perfect. Just, do the best you can with the dermal regenerator. Start slow close to the entrance, slower, pull back towards my left side.”

McCoy grit his teeth against the sensation.

Spock’s work was slow and methodical. McCoy tried to distract himself thinking of creative ways to tell Jim he was never going on another landing party for the rest of his life. Unfortunately thinking about yelling at Jim was less cathartic when he couldn’t count on Jim being alive still to afford him the opportunity.

Spock sat back. “It is done to the best of my ability.”

“That’s great, you did a good job, Spock,” McCoy told him. He didn’t care if it was true or not, Spock needed to hear it. He could see the tension in his expression, part of him wanting to accept the reassurance and the other part busy being in control. “Come keep me warm while we figure out what we’re going to do.”

Without any hesitation Spock was pressed up against his side. McCoy did feel warmer that way. He turned his head for a close view of Spock’s eyes, dark brown, soft even when Spock was his most closed off. They always made McCoy feel warmer too.

“We’re going to have to keep moving,” Spock said.

“Trying to get where?”

They had no map, no idea if there were any exits, no cold weather gear, and no supplies besides McCoy’s medkit and their tricorders. McCoy was skeptical about moving even discounting his injuries.

Spock said, “We must continue looking for the Captain and Lieutenant Uhura.”

“We weren’t really looking for them before, it was more a running for our lives sort of deal,” McCoy countered. Spock looked away as best he could without separating their bodies.

“I will attempt to bypass the protection grid to contact the ship. If I am unsuccessful, we will have to find our way to a different area either to escape or to an area that isn’t protected by the grid.”

“Fine,” McCoy said.

Spock pulled him to lean against his chest and propped his communicator up on McCoy’s uninjured shoulder. McCoy was glad there wasn’t a breeze. With the two of them huddled together and the environmental regulators, it wasn’t nearly as cold as he’d feared. He leaned his head back on Spock’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

McCoy must have fallen asleep, because he was woken by Spock squeezing his arm. “Be quiet.”

McCoy felt his heart rate jump. Spock must have heard something. He held still as Spock slipped out from behind him, leaving him feeling chilled, and tucked the communicator away. There were no sounds audible to McCoy’s ears, but Spock froze again after standing, head turned to the side. Slowly, he was edging towards the weapon leaning against the wall.

There was a sound, McCoy could hear it too this time. It was muffled, but distinctly like boots on the icy floor of the citadel hallways. Spock reached the weapon and took a defensive stance. McCoy wondered if they were lucky enough for the person or persons approaching to be Jim, Uhura, and the Lieutenant. He could hope, but he wasn’t willing to count on it.

Spock took a cautious step towards the opening. McCoy heard the footsteps again. He tried to pull himself up in case he needed to run, but the time spent on the floor in combination with his injuries had left him stiff and aching. He hissed as activating his core sent flares of pain deep through his abdomen. Maybe it was better if he kept quiet.

For a few long moments all he could hear was his own heartbeat and breath, but then the footsteps started again, growing louder and clearer until there was a figure entering the alcove.

Spock slid forward and the figure made a startled motion, drawing a weapon of their own, but both paused before their weapons met. A Klingon. McCoy should have known.

The Klingon was looking between him and Spock warily, bat’leth raised to parry. Spock had his weapon held high as well, but didn’t make any further move.

“Federation. What are you doing here?”

“I have the same question for you,” Spock said.

She made a dismissive noise. “There is no claim to this system by either of our empires. I may go as I please. Why are you hidden away here like rats in a hold?”

“Are your people responsible for the interference in Dhiltor’s negotiations with our ship?”

“If your reputation as manipulators and makers of bad dealings precede you, that is no interference of ours,” she replied. “I see your welcome has not been as warm as ours.” With that, she smiled and dropped her weapon slightly. “And if you planned to attack me, you would have done so by now.”

“I do not believe in unnecessary violence.”

“Necessity is an individual determination.”

McCoy watched them glare at each other and slowly leaned himself back again against the icy wall.

“I believe you have come to sabotage our relations with this world,” Spock said after a moment. “Why?”

“What you believe is of no consequence to me. Your entire Federation is made up of cowards, liars, and those deal in misdirection.”

“While those are false statements, even if what you described were true, we would still be preferable dealing partners than your empire, which prefers to conquer and destroy.”

“See?” she said. “Even now you cannot speak plainly. Our intentions are clear, and our battles honorable. I respect the passion with which our enemies fight.”

“What purpose does this conversation serve?”

She shrugged. “Will you let me pass? I have business elsewhere. Killing you will be only a minor inconvenience, if it comes to that.”

“I do not control this hallway,” Spock said. He stepped back several feet, still holding the weapon. McCoy could no longer see the Klingon’s face, but he watched her feet edge along the wall.

She paused by the exit. “I suspect you are wise enough to know that I will inform the guards of your whereabouts. Stay, if you are strong enough to fight.”

McCoy knew they would run the moment she disappeared. Spock was hauled him up by his good arm.

“We cannot stay here.”

That was true, but McCoy was too busy trying to breathe through the pain to respond. Before he had steadied his feet under him Spock was pulling him along down the corridor. They fell into an uncomfortable rhythm, Spock pulling, McCoy stumbling, breathing, Spock pulling again, and in this manner made a reasonable speed.

“Do you have any kind of plan?” McCoy managed to gasp out after Spock had paused at the second intersection of passageways. He was tugged off down the right-hand side.

“Yes,” Spock said very shortly.

McCoy didn’t have the breath to ask anything further.

They paused again in a tiny alcove. McCoy tried to take stock of how his injuries were doing with only his hands. Spock was fussing with the communicators again. The patch job they had done on the puncture wound seemed to be holding, McCoy was glad to see.

“Spock to Enterprise, Enterprise, come in.”

There was no response.

Spock snapped the communicator shut and took off again. They stopped twice more to do the same routine. McCoy was increasingly surprised at the lack of external bleeding and increasingly concerned that he was making up for it with plenty of bleeding internally. On their third stop, Spock heard something in the silence over the connection.

“We’re getting close.”

Mercifully, that meant they could slow to a walk. McCoy leant on Spock’s shoulder, focusing all his energy on putting one foot in front of the other. The communicator on Spock’s belt beeped. Spock had it open in a second.

“Spock here.”

“Spock!” Jim’s voice—part of McCoy’s anxiety could be relieved. “Uhura and I have been trying to get in contact, are you alright?”

“Doctor McCoy is injured. Where are you?”

“Stay where you are,” that was Uhura, she sounded fine, good, “we’re close to you.”

They left the connection open. McCoy listened to the sounds of boots on ice and felt Spock’s slow exhale. He squeezed Spock’s arm in reassurance. Sooner than he expected, Jim and Uhura appeared around the corner ahead of them. McCoy noted Jim had managed to keep his shirt on and intact.

“You look terrible,” Jim said.

McCoy raised an eyebrow. He was covered in blood; that went without saying.

“We must return to the ship,” Spock said. “I have been unable to locate an exit.”

“I think I can get us in contact with the ship,” Uhura said. “Give me your communicators.”

Spock handed them over without question. Jim held the excess equipment and everyone was silent for several long moments while she worked.

“Enterprise here.” The sound was crackly, but it was a stable connection. McCoy let out a long breath. Uhura grinned and Jim beamed back at her.

"Is it possible to transport directly from our location?" Spock asked. "Doctor McCoy requires medical attention."

Scotty's voice came on the line. "Aye, but give us a second. You've been out of scanner range for some time. What's happened? What about the shuttle craft?"

"Klingons," Jim said grimly.

"Out here? Damn. We've got a line open to the shuttlecraft should I call them back?"

"Not yet. Did Lieutenant Sage get back there safely?"

"Yes, they’ve been on standby. Transporter ready for you now sir."

“Four to—” Spock began.

“No,” Jim interrupted him, “you two go. We still need those supplies. Enterprise, two phasers to my coordinates.”

“You’re kidding.” McCoy could help himself. His pulse, which had finally slowed down, sped up again. The air at Jim’s feet glimmered and solidified. “What are you two going to do against their entire security force? Die, and hope they send your dead bodies back with the crates out of pity?”

“I will assist,” Spock said, but his grip was slowly tightening on McCoy’s arm.

“No,” Jim said again. “I want you onboard on the lookout for the Klingons.”

“We’ve got this,” Uhura said.

McCoy handed her his medkit just in case. “Good luck.”

She nodded and stepped back. Jim was inspecting the double-bladed weapon Sock had been toting around. McCoy sent a silent prayer to the universe that he wouldn’t try to use it.

“Very well. Two to beam up.”

Despite his lingering anxiety about Jim and Uhura, relief was already making his knees go a little bit weak before the transporter had them in its pattern buffer. When they materialized fully Spock grunted as he was suddenly forced to support McCoy’s entire weight.

“Medbay’s bringing a gurney,” the ensign at the controls told them.

“And a pain killer I hope.”

Spock carried him down the steps before Christine and one of the techs came in with the gurney at full speed.

“I’m hardly at death’s door,” he complained, but the effect was severely undercut by the fact that Spock was already setting him down.

“Good,” Christine told him with a hypo to his nck.

Between one breath and the next the hypo kicked in. His eyes slipped shut against his will. Someone was pulling his shirts off as they began to move.

"What the hell is this?" Christine was muttering.

"Field medicine," McCoy tried to tell her. He wasn't quite sure how to tell if he was speaking out loud.

Somewhere in the background Spock was explaining. The gurney turned, lights flickered, and then he could sense they were safely in medbay.

"You put sealant material in an unsterilized wound and closed it with a dermal regen?" Christine asked incredulously.

Spock did his best, McCoy wanted her to know.

"I was talking to you," Christine said. "Don't worry, Spock went back to the bridge."

Of course, because of the Klingons.

"I'd rather not know."

McCoy let himself fall further into the haze that was over taking him. Her voice stopped making sense. He came back slightly when someone touched his shoulder.

"We're going to treat this like an abscess." M'Benga must have arrived at some point. "It'll be a little slower, but I don't want to cut open all the regenerated skin. You can sleep if you like."

McCoy was already well on his way. He hoped M'Benga knew, because he was too tired to tell him.

—

McCoy woke up by himself in a biobed. He still felt hazy from pain meds, but even through them he could tell that his arm and shoulder were freshly healed. Someone had left a glass of water by the side of the bed. Reaching out for it revealed that a small tube ran from a small machine hooked to the side of the bed under his patient wrap. He lifted the fabric and poked at the dressing. M’Benga’s work was always very clean and neat.

They had probably gone in and tried to clear whatever sealant fibers had still been trapped in there before the regen. Without breaking the new skin it would take some time to fully flush and drain before they could go back over with the deep tissue regen. He wondered how long he’d been out.

McCoy scooted up the bed carefully, looking for his chart, or possibly shoes. The curtain opened, revealing Christine with a chart and a prepackaged cup of the food medbay was famous for. He couldn’t help his nose wrinkling slightly.

“You would wake up the second my back was turned. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” McCoy told her, “Did everyone else get back okay?”

“No one else even got scratched,” she said. He was given the cup—blueberry flavor—and a look.

“Not even Jim?”

She took a second to answer while checking the tubing. “The Captain did manage to lose his shirt, somehow.”

“Typical.”

“Well the good news is they got those supplies, so tomorrow we can do inventory. I’ll be back in thirty minutes to take out the drain. Doctor M’Benga said he doesn’t think you’re at great risk of infection, but he wants to do a round of local antibiotics before the deep tissue regen, so you’re here for the night. Need anything?”

McCoy opened his mouth to protest, thought of the microbiome on unwashed human hands and could imagine pretty well what it might be like on alien claws, and changed his mind. “Actually, I did want to get something from my quarters, could you get me some shoes? Is Spock off duty yet?”

“Tell me what you need and I’ll send one of the yeomen,” Christine replied. Her smile made it clear she’d been expecting this. McCoy smiled back. He still had some pride.

“Never mind, it can wait.”

“Well I’ll be just around the corner,” she said.

Christine appeared from around the curtain, frown firmly in place, before he had so much as touched his foot to the floor.

"Doctor I will write you up for noncompliance."

"I just need five minutes," he told her, hoping he sounded appropriately contrite and conciliatory. If he was at all successful in modulating his tone, the fact that this was his third escape attempt negated it entirely. She did not look amused.

"Tell me what it is and I'll send Mister Spock—"

"That's not—"

Spock himself appeared as if summoned by her use of his name. His face was blank, but the expression was one McCoy was quite familiar with. Disapproval radiated from his stance and the flat line of his mouth.

"Leonard."

"Don't ‘Leonard’ me."

Christine produced a chair for Spock and left again before McCoy could try to convince her once more to let him make a short trip to his quarters. With the way Spock was looking at him, McCoy couldn’t imagine he’d be any easier to convince.

“You have been given clear medical orders and you will follow them,” Spock said. McCoy found himself forcibly covered with the blankets again as Spock tucked them in firmly. “If you do not, you will concede hypocrisy.”

McCoy glared at him. “I’m a doctor, I can make it to my quarters without dislodging my drain.”

“If it was necessary, I have no doubt that you could, but you will be staying here.”

There had to be someone who wasn’t above his influence still around in medbay. “Nurse Amery?”

His newest, most easily intimidated nurse poked his head around the curtain. “Yes, Doctor?”

“I need to make a trip to my quarters under medical supervision, would you be so kind as to get a—”

“That will not be necessary, Nurse,” Spock said, loudly, over the second half of his sentence. “Doctor McCoy has been ordered to remain in bed and is off duty. Rest assured he has everything he could need. You are dismissed.”

Nurse Amery was wide eyed staring back and forth between them. Spock’s authority won out over McCoy’s staring him down, obviously, because he said, “Yes Commander,” and ducked back out of sight.

“How’d you get stuck with babysitting duty,” McCoy grumbled.

"Unfortunately I 'signed up for this'. Your staff have not, please _stay_ in your bed."

McCoy settled for the moment, mostly in deference to the fact that Spock had been working since they got back while he had enjoyed a nice painkiller assisted nap in the biobed. Spock was on edge, ready for him to continue the argument. As McCoy stayed quiet and seated, he stood and McCoy watched him externalize his anxiety in a series of useless inspections of the machinery and blankets. McCoy offered him a kiss with two fingers as he circled the bed, which Spock took without looking or acknowledging.

Only when he had returned to his chair did McCoy decide to give honest communication a try.

"Spock, what's the date?" He hurried to clarify when Spock's expression began to crease in genuine concern. "On the Vulcan calendar."

Spock sounded suspicious. "Why do you ask?"

It was too late to rethink his gesture. "I have something I wanted to show you tonight. It's in my closet under my green sweater."

McCoy felt Spock allow them a moment of telepathic sharing with fingers on his wrist.

"It will keep, Leonard."

"It's our anniversary on the Vulcan calendar.”

For a moment, Spock appeared frozen. Slowly his expression changed to one of subtle confusion and apprehension. He did not reply, obviously waiting for McCoy to get to his real point.

“I wanted to . . .” McCoy began, but he still didn’t know how to explain it. He wanted Spock to see his offering and go from there. It sort of ruined the surprise if Spock saw it ahead of time, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world, McCoy hoped. “Will you go get it? And bring it back here, and I’ll explain.”

“Is it that urgent?” Spock asked.

“It’s not urgent but why does that matter I’m—fine I’ll go get it and you can wait here.”

McCoy wasn’t prepared to deal with Spock’s scrutiny. He’d committed to mentioning it and if he didn’t go through with it now he’d lose his courage. If Spock hated the idea, so be it, he could go to bed and McCoy could ruminate on the myriad failures of his romantic life in peace. He struggled against the tubing. It wouldn’t take him more than 5 minutes to go get the PADD from his closet.

Spock stood and pushed him down firmly, with more force than was necessary. “You will _not._ ”

“It’ll be _five minutes_ ,” McCoy protested, “I’m the Chief Medical Officer, if I can’t be trusted to walk to and from a turbo lift just because I have tiny piece of tubing—”

 _“Leonard.”_ Again, in that tone.

McCoy shut up and glared at him.

“If you will promise not to follow Nurse Chapel’s instructions in my absence, I will retrieve the PADD.”

“I’m a model patient.”

Spock’s look was equal match for his glare. He let the curtain swing closed after him.

McCoy watched the slow process of fluid draining through the tube doing his best not to look up every time he heard footsteps. By the time he was getting antsy, worried that Spock had found it, read it, and decided not to come back, the curtain rustled and Spock handed him the PADD without a word. McCoy took it, expecting to see something written on it, or some sign of Spock’s reaction, but there was nothing.

“Did you look at it?”

“I did not,” Spock said as he settled back into his seat. “You wanted to present it to me.”

Yes, he had. But now, after it had become such a big deal, he was nervous. He stared at it for a second longer, then switched it on, made sure the right page was coming up, and handed it over, staring determinedly at the tip of Spock’s right ear.

Spock was quiet. McCoy’s eyes darted over to his face, but it was composed, his eyes tracking the words on the screen. He watched Spock scroll down to the next page, noticed the tiny twitch of his eyebrow, and felt his stomach tie up in knots. When Spock still said nothing, he couldn’t wait any longer.

“I only filled out the first page, in case you thought it was a bad idea, but I—”

“Leonard, this is an application for residency on New Vulcan.”

“I know,” McCoy said dumbly, “I read it.”

Spock set the PADD down on the bed, screen turned off, and looked up at him. “What do you mean by this gesture?”

McCoy fought with his words again, biting his metaphorical tongue so as not to say anything he hadn’t thought through. He knew Spock understood, and he understood why Spock wanted him to say it, but that was never his strong suit.

“If you need to go back to live with your people, I would—if you wanted me to—I would come with you.”

Spock’s answer was very quiet. “And leave Jim, and your career on this ship?”

“Well I’d still be able to work, the new station at New Vulcan is still taking applications, Starfleet would let me transfer.”

Spock did not look away. Patient, he waited for McCoy to stop dodging the question.

Are you willing to give up the friends you’ve made, the life you have here, the adventure you’ve come to tolerate and even enjoy, on occasion? Are you sure you’re willing to put all that aside for me?

“I would be sorry to leave Jim, and everyone. Still, I never planned on spending my whole career on a starship. I—” always wanted to settle down, maybe have a family. McCoy caught himself before saying that part aloud. He’d given some of those dreams up when he decided to sign on for another 5 years and he’d found something else important onboard with the crew. Besides, it was better to see how well this much commitment was received before he brought anything more down on Spock’s head.

“Is this inspired by my comments after the death of Ambassador Spock?”

“I’m—” McCoy felt like he hadn’t been explaining himself very well. “I’m not asking you to change your plans, I’m just saying if you were thinking about it, I’d, I want to be included.” He searched Spock’s face for any clue to how he was receiving this. He was so still it made McCoy antsy as if to compensate. Spock’s expression was stuck in the wide eyed flat mouthed expression McCoy had secretly dubbed ‘processing’ and he knew just had to wait it out, but that didn’t make it easy.

Spock stood. Some monitor beeped in alarm as McCoy’s heart rate skyrocketed in momentary panic that Spock was going to leave without saying anything, but he was actually putting the PADD aside and sitting on the biobed.

A delightful, if unexpected result. McCoy scooted over as best he could, dragging the tubing with him. “Better hope Chapel doesn’t catch us.”

Spock, with his shoes off and everything, squished himself into the narrow space at the edge of the bed, thoroughly ruining the nice hospital corners as he took his place along McCoy’s side with head tucked against McCoy’s shoulder.

“I have been authorized to use any means necessary to keep you in your bed.”

McCoy could think of a few techniques Chapel wouldn’t approve of.

Spock said, “The weight of your offer does not escape me. I am honored to be included in your plans for the future. New Vulcan, much like its predecessor, is not the most hospitable to outworlders.” His fingers curled around McCoy’s.

“Having residency wouldn’t mean I’d have to live there,” McCoy felt the need to point out. The warmth of Spock’s appreciation was flowing through him like a gentle current. He hoped Spock could feel his affection for the shared moment in the same way.

“We can discuss this further.”

“I’m not in a rush,” McCoy said.

Spock’s breath tickled against his neck. “You are a day early.”

“What?” He’d counted himself, used the computer’s date conversion tool, and he’d triple checked that he hadn’t transposed any of the numbers. “No, I checked multiple times.”

“Your calculation of the date was correct,” Spock said, “but traditionally, anniversaries are marked with relation to the days and months, not the numerical day. I appreciate your efforts.”

McCoy sighed.

“Tomorrow I had planned to ask you to consider merging our quarters.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I am not.”

He wanted to blame the residual pain medication for the soft melty feeling threatening to show it self. Spock pushed up on an elbow and looked sideways at him. McCoy had to swallow hard in order to resist getting lost in his eyes. This was his own medbay for goodness sake. If he got caught being sentimental here he’d never recover his reputation.

“So you gonna ask me?” His voice was breathier than he would have liked.

Spock half-smiled and said, “No.”

“No?!” He was trying to cuddle against him on the bed again but McCoy wasn’t about to let that slide. “What do you mean _no?_ ”

“I spent several hours composing my arguments and responses to your counter arguments,” Spock told him, completely immune to McCoy’s half-hearted attempts to put some space between them so they could keep looking at each other. “I have three potential layouts and a request mostly filled out for Mister Scott. I am not going to go all the way back to my quarters to retrieve them, and I would prefer to negotiate in private. You will have to wait.”

“How do you know what my counter arguments will be.”

“I am highly intelligent.”

“Oh yeah? What’s one of them?”

“You will be further from sickbay.”

True, but he barely spent half his time there anyway with how often Jim dragged him out to be part of landing parties. “Hmm and what’s your rebuttal?”

“A double bed, private bathroom, and a larger living space.”

“Not bad,” McCoy said. He could feel Spock’s smug amusement radiating through his forehead pressed to his neck. “What else?”

Spock’s hand crept up his chest to splay approximately over his heart. “It will require packing, moving, and general chaos for a window of two to three weeks.”

“That’s the only other one you could think of?” McCoy asked. “You were so sure I wanted to live with you?”

Spock hesitated slightly. Some of his amusement was fading. “Regardless of your answer you will not have to decide tomorrow. It would take Mister Scott some time to prepare joint quarters in any case.”

“You already promised me a bigger living space and general chaos,” McCoy said. He wiggled his arm out to brush Spock’s hair in silent reassurance. “I’m going to go to your quarters tomorrow and put all your things in unlabeled boxes and leave them in the middle of the floor half packed for two weeks.”

The slight tension that had built in Spock’s posture slipped away. “I see have I erred in giving you prior warning.”

“Have any other surprise plans you want to warn me about?” McCoy asked.

“You have cleverly foiled them by getting yourself confined to medbay for observation overnight.”

“I had some help.”

Spock hummed his polite skepticism.

“I’ll also have the next shift off,” McCoy settled against him and kissed the top of his head. “How about you exercise your senior officer’s privileges just this once, take the shift off too.”

“You’re a terrible influence, Leonard,” Spock said.

“Is that a yes?”

McCoy waited a second and then nudged him. Spock’s sighed sounded more content than aggravated. “Yes.”

It was hard to keep from smiling. They had more to talk about, of course, he wasn’t naïve enough to think living together would be a walk in the park. But the practical concerns and the redrawing of boundaries could wait. They had a full shift off together tomorrow. McCoy’s hand found Spock’s on his chest. “Good. We’ll make a day of it.”


End file.
